


You're Not The One Who Left Me

by loveofmylonglife



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveofmylonglife/pseuds/loveofmylonglife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>40s Romelza AU in which Ross comes back from war and Demelza knows all about his little secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Not The One Who Left Me

Her head hurt as she unwound the wrap from around it and her eyes twitched reflexively with each throb, but Demelza didn’t really care. She folded the bandana carefully into a little square as she felt her hair tumble in wild curls down her back and around her neck. The fiery locks stuck to her sweaty face and neck and she used the square to wipe it clean, turning around to lean against the sideboard. An iron fist felt like it had her skull in its grip and was crushing it slowly, her head pulsing as she pulled at the first few poppers of her grimy jumpsuit. She didn’t feel like climbing out of it immediately today and the house was oddly quiet.

Ross had informed her over breakfast that he intended to go to the pub with some of his old friends from the area whom he hadn’t seen since he’d been shipped off for active service. The day before that, he’d told her he wanted to go exploring in the town so she should expect him back a little later than usual. The day before that, when he’d first arrived back, he’d told her he had some unfinished business at his uncle’s house regarding the death of his cousin and must go there immediately to settle it. Business that would take all night. Something had been gnawing at him since he’d come home this time, his time on leave didn’t seem as relaxed and hopeful as it had last time. He seemed anxious, distracted, distant somehow from herself, from their life, their home, everything. Now that he was home for a while, she wanted him to have every luxury they could afford and let him spend his time as he wished before he was forced to go back. She’d adjusted her schedule at the factory and her boss had given her a knowing look when she’d asked for different hours: it seemed the whole floor had known that Ross would be on leave for a while and no one was loathe to allow her to spend more time with her husband, especially when the war was at such a stage. It seemed that her adjusted hours had no effect on Ross, who always seemed to have errands to run, but she wasn’t one to tell him how to spend his time. That had never worked well in the past.

Although her life was structured by the same routine of work, home, eat and sleep, everyone was well aware that the world around them was changing and not necessarily for the better. Demelza had been party to it, she’d lived through it, seeing Ross volunteer himself for war, having to say goodbye to him, waiting anxiously for letters, hastily packing parcels and sitting through hours of anxious news coverage of air battles between the RAF and Luftwaffe on the wireless. Often she’d be alone at home with just Ross’ letters for company in the evenings and it was these old letters that she pulled out of a cupboard, laying them in a stack on the sideboard. The sun shone over the old, oft-thumbed paper dully. She dragged her thumb over the loose sheaves, making them flick like she was shuffling a deck of cards. The ink was faded but words jumped out at her from the page in Ross’ scrawled, messy handwriting. I love yous and I miss yous and I’ll see you soons. She barely processed them and left the pile on the sideboard, walking over to sit down next to the wireless. She realised her gloves were still in her hand and set them down on the arm of the chair.

It was late and Ross was due back soon. He’d made a habit of coming home late this time while he was on leave. His dinner was warming in the oven and she absently rubbed her own hands together, grinding the skin harshly with her thumbs to get rid of a small patch of yellow she’d discovered when she’d taken off her gloves. She had no wish to become infected with anything and she always took all precautions she could when she was at the factory. She looked out of the window to distract herself, more to observe the world going by than to look for Ross. The street was busy as usual with women coming off their shifts just as she had been an hour ago and she wondered for a moment, in the context of all these things, how Ross saw the street on which they’d always lived. She wanted to ask him whether it was a shock to come back home, whether he thought the city was different from when he’d left it. Not just the city, but the country, the whole world. It was as if the entire axis of the Earth was shifting slowly, but fast enough for everyone to feel it. Living here day to day, it was obvious to her that things had changed, but did he see it too?

He seemed happy enough when he’d first come, telling her he wanted to spend two weeks of ‘normal life’ with her before he had to go back, how pleased he was to see her in her oily, shapeless jumpsuit, doing her bit for the war effort, how he’d go back and brag to his boys that his wife was being proactive. She’d revelled in the praise originally, glowing with his appreciation and happy that he approved of her finding work in the factory to cure her boredom and restlessness while he was away. She admitted, she’d been swept up in all the excited chatter of the women up and down the street, telling her it was time to get a proper job now that all the men were away, fill up her life with something else other than Ross. And although the factory wasn’t the easiest manual labour she’d ever done, especially compared to cooking and cleaning at home like she’d been occupied with before, it had opened her eyes and shown her that there was something to be achieved outside the home, outside Ross, outside being who she was. And for Ross to support her through that, it gave her all the confidence in the world to continue with it.

His letters of joy and exclamation marks and encouragement sat silently on the sideboard and she flicked her tired eyes to look up at them for a second, her gaze cut short by a crash at the door. She sighed and stood up, picking up the hair that had become heavy at the nape of her neck, pushing it to the side as Ross walked in. She hoped he wasn’t drunk.

“Demelza!”

He strode in purposefully and took his hat off, straightening his crumpled uniform as he tossed the cap to the side. He leaned down to press his cheek against hers and peck it fondly.

“How were the boys?” she asked as she strode past him and walked to the wardrobe to pull out something suitable for him to change into.

“Oh, good, good,” was his dismissive response, “lots to catch up on. Dwight’s on leave too, did you know? I managed to catch Caroline just before she had to leave for her shift too. Dwight told me things have been a little up and down since Francis….you know,” his tone shifted and she paused. She knew he didn’t like talking about the death of his cousin.

“Things have been up and down, yes,” she replied, “poor Elizabeth, left all alone in that house with little Geoffrey Charles.”

“Indeed.”

Ross’ reply was short and Demelza couldn’t help it when her lip turned up in an unkind sneer. She walked away and made as if she was pouring Ross some whisky from the sideboard, but in reality, her hands were shaking too much to hold anything steady.

“I hear she’s been keeping busy with her women’s advocacy,” Demelza managed, not bothering to look at him as he replied.

“Admirable, isn’t it? To occupy your time with so worthy a pursuit,” he commented airily, walking around while he slowly unbuttoned his jacket, “I’m quite taken with the idea myself. Deeds not words. It’s a good slogan, isn’t it?”

“It is. She came to see me a few days before you arrived. To personally deliver her wedding invitation. I’m afraid the wedding will be taking place after you go back, George can only make it to London then. It’s alright, I’ll go by myself.”

The room was quiet, the only sound the ruffle of his clothes as he rifled through his wardrobe, acting as if she hadn’t said anything. But to Demelza, all she could hear was her shallow breathing and the thud of her heart impossibly high in her ribcage. Her blood boiled at his silence on the matter. Her head spun and she felt like she could vomit, but she held herself in. She was determined not to be the hysterical, fiery Demelza that Ross would be so quick to dismiss whenever they had an argument. She had no desire to cause tension in the house, especially when he was on leave and there was enough of it already. There was always unspoken tension in the air when he was in the house during leave, the knowledge that he’d have to leave at some point, the knowledge that their time together was limited so they should both make the best of it.

But she rallied herself by thinking that it wasn’t her fault that this volcano was about to erupt. It had been bubbling steadily since they’d gotten married and Ross had made the ground shake, he’d forced this reaction from her and now he had to take it whether he liked it or not. The thick fabric of the jumpsuit felt hot and scratched her sweaty, red skin as she walked over to pick up his cleaned plate. She knew he was about to open his mouth and make some sort of comment about how she should get changed and put her best dress on because they would go out dancing tonight, just like they did almost every night he was home. He’d always loved to watch her dress up, she recalled. He’d lean against the doorframe in his pristine uniform and watch her curl her unruly hair with precision and apply her make up. She never knew what he loved about it so much, maybe he found it soothing. He called their evenings out together ‘a little spark of light in a terribly dark world.’

She was afraid to tell him that there would be no spark tonight. Not tonight, not tonight. She turned around to see him shaking out a shirt and considering it with furrowed eyebrows

“Deeds, not words. That’s what you said, didn’t you?”

He paused and stared at her in confusion, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Are you thinking of joining Elizabeth too? Really, it would be a marvellous undertaking, you—“

The look on her face cut him off awkwardly and he stopped, narrowing his eyes at the strain in her own.

“Deeds, not words,” she repeated as she looked straight at him, “does that mean you can lie to me? Speak whichever sweet words you wish while you carry on with whatever deeds I don’t know about? And it’s alright?”

The look on his face was one of pure confusion and Demelza positively shook with anger. Somehow it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t remember when she couldn’t forget. She didn’t know where to start, how to explain his own misdeeds to him. Why should she be the one to jog his memory? This horrible blot, this fresh stain on their relationship was the only thing she’d been able to think about since her ill judged visit to Trenwith the night he’d come back.

“What….what’s the meaning of this?” he asked inquisitively, his dark brows furrowing in concern. It was hard to get Demelza to open up to him at the best of times, especially when she decided to be cryptic just to punish him.

She couldn’t help a short bark of a laugh at his question, her exclamation turning into a derisive scoff as she tugged at the poppers of her overalls again distractedly, the old fabric pulling taught to reveal the luxurious silk of her undergarments. The faint peach colour taught his eye and he couldn’t help running his gaze over the tantalising satin that dipped down between her breasts, the stray curl falling so perfectly, clashing sharply with her soft, pale skin, before his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. They were angry and red, adorned with fresh, hot tears of rage. A sinking feeling brewed in his stomach as he made to move forward, to take her in his arms and comfort her, drag her out of whatever hole she was falling into. It wouldn’t be the first time him coming back after so long had made her emotional. She stepped back from his advances but didn’t bother to wipe the tears that fell on her sharp cheekbones, burning her skin. She hadn’t mean to cry, honestly, she hadn’t. She didn’t want her ‘hysterical’ side to come out but the topic was such that she couldn’t control herself.

“Demelza, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened.”

His voice was so measured it made her want to scream at him until her throat was raw. The pretense made her feel physically ill.

“What happened? What happened, Ross?” she asked, her quiet voice dripping with sarcasm, “You’re asking me what happened?”

Ross raised his eyebrows at her slight insanity and backed away, the sinking feeling in his stomach pinning him painfully to the ground. His feet felt like lead and he wasn’t ready for this, not now. The pain and anger in her expression crushed him. But he knew what to do, he knew he could explain himself and it would be hard but eventually Demelza would understand. Maybe she’d even forgive him if he apologised the way he intended to.

“What happened, Ross?” she murmured quietly, gesturing between them, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, carefully, barely believing that they were having this conversation, “I don’t know what happened.”

“And if you don’t know, then how am I supposed to know?”

Her reply was shockingly simple, accompanied by a shrug of her shoulders. Her head began to spin again and she waited, waited for Ross to say something, to respond, to talk, to explain, to yell, to do something. But nothing came. All he did was bite his lip uncertainly, the sharp line of his jaw bobbing as he gnawed, his eyes set in a sad, downcast gaze. She’d done her fair share of scoffing so far during their conversation but she couldn’t help doing it again, disbelief washing over her weak body as if she’d been hit by a crashing wave on a rock. I don’t know. That was all Ross had to say for himself.

“I don’t understand,” she began, raising her sore eyes to look at him squarely, “help me. Help me understand. You send me letters every week, you wait to come home, you tell me how you miss me, us, our home, our bed, our life together, that all you want is to come back and live that for a short while. And we both know you don’t have long here and I do everything I can, everything, Ross, to make you happy. I go out with you every night no matter how exhausted I am from my shifts, I cook for you every night no matter how raw my hands are, I give myself to you every night no matter how my body aches. And you? You pick her.”

The last word was spat out like a curse. She stole herself. She hadn’t mean to say that, she was well aware it was childish but it just came out. She bit her lip this time as the expression on Ross’ face turned from nervous to sad.

“I didn’t pick her, Demelza, I—“

“You what? You what?” she countered almost rabidly, snapping her head back up to look at him. The sound of his voice, of his slow, tender tone laced with apology incensed her and she felt like her whole body was on fire. She didn’t want him to talk any more, she wanted him to listen, to listen and understand and feel the agony, the burning anguish she felt when she found out. She wanted him to be decimated, to feel like someone had reached inside him and pulled out his living, beating heart and proceeded to crush it between their palms right in front of him. That was how she’d felt, she could still remember how she choked for breath, how she couldn’t take in air fast enough and her throat felt arid and raw. Her breath had come in loud wheezes, so loud that she was afraid that she would disturb Ross and Elizabeth in flagrante delicto. It had been three days ago and her knees still carried the evidence of the deep blue black bruises and cuts she had obtained when she’d fell onto the gravelled driveway.

She wondered why she was crying this time when back then, no tears had come. It felt like her whole body had dried up, no anxious sweat, no distraught wailing, no words would come from her parched mouth. She could taste the salty, hot tears spilling over her own lips now, but she wiped them away with her sleeves. The coarse fabric felt rough and painful on her sore eyes but it was the best she could do. Ross was in pain now, watching her with furrowed eyebrows, his lips turned downwards. She didn’t like him looking at her like that, almost like he pitied her. She knew where this was going and she’d tried to keep herself bottled but it wasn’t working.

“What? What is it?” she snapped.

“I’m just….I’m sorry, Demelza. I don’t know how or why but I know I’m sorry. I just went to see her that night to talk about her engagement with George and then—“

“I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear the details, I don’t want you to tell me what happened! I don’t want to hear your apologies!” she yelled, fighting back the tears, well aware that she looked dishevelled now, “All I want to know is why? Why, Ross? Why am I here? What am I here for? I give you all of me, everyday, every last bit of energy I have to make you happy but it’s not enough. It never has been, am I right?”

Ross bristled at this and pulled himself up to his full height. She didn’t know whether he intended on intimidating her with his stormy expression and intense gaze, but it wasn’t working.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that it’s always been her, hasn’t it? It’s always been her. Since before I met you, while we’ve been married, all the time, it’s Elizabeth. She’s in the back of your mind all the time, she’s always there. It’s like she’s between us, with us everywhere we go. Do you think of her when you’re with me? Do you think of her when you touch me?”

She wasn’t aware of how fast the words were coming as they tumbled uncontrollably out of her mouth at lightning speed, all these horrific realisations she was voicing out loud for the first time. Now that he’d felt her, he’d touched her, did he think of her when they’d been together these last few days? The thought made her feel sick again, bile rising in her throat. She gasped for air and felt like she might need to excuse herself, but Ross stepped in.

“No, no, of course not, don’t say things like that—“

“Why not? Why shouldn’t I? Isn’t it the truth? You yearn for her, Ross! You always have!”

Her mind was a mess of thoughts now, none of which she could process into coherent words about how she felt and all she wanted to do was scream meaninglessly at him. She didn’t care that she’d look crazy or insane or driven mad, because she was. She’d never voiced her rivalry or jealousy for Elizabeth out loud, never to Ross and never past spiteful comments but this was different. He hadn’t just been thinking about her, he’d been with her. He’d wanted to spend his free time with her, away from Demelza, away from their home. The thought tore her apart, made her insides boil with pure rage until her throat and chest felt clamped and choked. She had a thousand questions but she didn’t know where to start or if she’d ever get the answers.

“You….you need her, don’t you? Even when you’re with me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to force down the chokehold at her throat.

“I need you, Demelza,” Ross insisted quietly, biting his lip as he stepped forward, but again, she moved back. He was unsure of how to quell her pain and anger, he didn’t know how to move, what to say. In her mind, nothing he could say could make this better.

“You need me? So you need us both? Is that what you want, some sort of sick threesome? Do you want me to let this happen, just let it go? Do you want me to ask you in the morning whether you’ll dine here or at Trenwith this evening? And if you decide to come home, should I have your dinner ready for you and ask you how she was? It’s a shame polygamy’s illegal in this country, otherwise maybe she could have been the second Mrs Ross P—“

“DEMELZA!”

Ross’ eyes blazed with untamed rage as he stepped forward, shocked at her audacity, but his raised voice seemed to have no effect on Demelza which was unusual. The redhead returned his gaze with her own fire, so bright and blazing that it threatened to consume him and the house they stood in.

“Don’t Demelza me, Ross Poldark! Don’t you dare speak to me like that, as if I’m a child you need to take in hand! I am your wife and you will treat me as such! You will treat me with respect! What am I here for? What, to soothe you? To give you a pretty house and a wife you can be proud of? That’s not what I’m here for! I’m not here to service your needs! I had your child, Ross!”

She screamed this last with such feeling that a silence fell between them. She gasped for breath after her exertion and stared at him, willing him to speak, to say something. Still he said nothing. A sob broke from her chest, heavily and deeply, making Ross’ eyes sting as he watched her.

“I had your child! Our child! You sat with her while she died, Ross! And while she was dying and I was delirious, all I could think of was that Elizabeth was there and she would take you from me! In my darkest moment, when I was so close to death, the only thing in my heart, in my mind was that she’d come and take my Ross from me and she has! SHE HAS, ROSS!”

A wordless cry of anguish tore from her throat and Ross flinched but didn’t step back. Demelza looked at her surroundings, madly twisting her head this way and that in a frenzy, her eyes skimming around everything that constituted their bedroom. The place they slept, woke and made love, the place she’d nursed Julia and fought death. All those intimate things that made her who she was, made their marriage what it was and now they were standing there watching it fall apart in front of their eyes. The space between her and Ross felt static and prickly and she was glued to the floor. She wanted to move forward and smack him across the face for his insolence, his disrespect, but she also wanted to turn and run, run as far as she could and get away from a man she didn’t know anymore.

He stood oddly still in a room that had begun to spin around her uncertainly. She knew he wanted to speak, to justify himself and she also knew that Ross knew she wouldn’t listen to a word.

“My love, please—“

The sound of his voice was enough to tip her over the edge. That term of endearment, something she had grown so attached to, something she longed to hear when he was away now seemed like a venomous bite, alien to her ears, making the whole room shift around her unsteadily. It was too much for her, the pity, the sadness, the pleading she knew was about to come. His voice crashed like cymbals around her ears, reverberating and ricocheting off every surface, making her scrunch her eyes shut in agony. Her whole body prickled with electricity and she turned away from him, her eyes flicking to the side to the small glass frame on their beside table. Inside it rested a black and white photograph of their wedding day, of a smart and laughing Ross with one hand tucked into the pocket of his uniform, the other resting on the trim waist of a mid-motion Demelza, fixing the flowing white lace of her dress. There was a smile on her face as she tackled her floor length veil, her bouquet pressed to Ross’ chest as she tried to get ready for the camera.

Bile rose in her throat as she looked at herself, so unsuspecting, so thoroughly in love with Ross, unable to believe her luck, so eager to look good for him. Her own reflection was visible in the glass and all of a sudden, a hot, feverish wave of revulsion swept over her and she strode to the table, picked up the frame roughly in her hand and threw it with all her might across the room. The force elicited a scream of fury from her which made the whole house tremble beneath Ross’ feet. He realised his breath was coming in short pants and he could make no sense of any of the thoughts in his head. He was scared now, scared of losing her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he wished he could go back in time and erase what he’d done but she didn’t want to listen. She was too far away now, somewhere Ross couldn’t reach no matter how hard he tried and he knew that was his fault.

She stared at him in disgust, her face flushed and streaked with tears, her hair tossed across it, curls shaking as her whole body trembled with each ragged breath she took. Her hands were fisted at her sides now.

“Which part of me didn’t I give to you?! What didn’t I do for you?! I tolerated this, your infatuation with her! I married you despite that, hoped that you would change after we got married, that you’d focus your attention on me, on us, on making a home and a family together! But instead all you can think about is war and Elizabeth! The two things that take you further and further away from me! You didn’t need to volunteer, you didn’t get conscripted, why did you want to leave—“

“Demelza, we’ve talked about this before. You know why, you know why I had to leave this place, how stifled I felt when—“

She sighed and buried her face in her hands, pacing around the living room in irritation as Ross spoke. Every word that came out of his mouth frustrated her, made her angrier and all she wanted was for him to stop talking. She knew she was hitting him with a barrage of questions but all he did was try to explain himself away and it wouldn’t work, not this time.

“I’ve had enough of your excuses! You’re not the only one allowed to hurt and feel pain and want to run away!” she yelled suddenly, turning around with renewed fire in her eyes.

Ross gritted his teeth and stepped forward, his gestures wild as he confronted her, his own eyes blazing.

“I didn’t run away! And I don’t think of myself as some god—“

“You don’t? Because what you want, your needs, your desires, they’re what come first! And the whole world has to accept it and adjust to it! But I won’t, not this time! I’ve had enough, Ross, I’ve had enough! I built a life with you, I made a home with you and no matter what hurt you were feeling, how broken you were from what had happened to you, I tried to fix it, heal it. Maybe I didn’t, maybe all I could do was wrap it in a bandage and hope it didn’t get worse. But that isn’t what this relationship should be, a bandage.”

Her voice was quiet now, it had dimmed throughout and she was now sitting silently in front of her dressing table. She was staring at the floor, the redness disappearing from her face and fading slowly from her neck while she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes as if she was focussing on something miniscule. Her words had cut him to the core, to see her sitting there doubting the very foundations of their marriage was something that had wounded his heart beyond measure. He knew he’d caused this mess and he was sorry, so sorry but so confused about how to tell her how he felt. He didn’t know what kind of apology would be good enough, whether she’d ever forgive him at all and whether he deserved all she was giving him. He knew he’d been selfish for wanting to leave and volunteer but he needed to go and at the time she insisted that she understood it and that she was okay with his decision.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he and Elizabeth had been writing to each other for weeks before he’d gone to meet her in Trenwith the night he’d come back from the front line. His anger at the news of her engagement to George hadn’t dissipated, but her letters had made it clear to him that there was no other way for her to survive in Trenwith now that Francis was gone and she had a little boy to look after. He wasn’t happy with it and he’d gone to the house that night to discuss other options with her. And maybe if they hadn’t written to each other beforehand, what happened may never have happened. He didn’t know when those letters had turned from friendly concern to romantic, yearning love, the kind he’d felt for her back in their youth. And when he was alone with no one around him, out on the front and all he could think of was being back there, it was easy for him to be swayed by her words.

He would receive letters from Demelza too, and parcels filled with treats and candy and his favourite foods he’d missed from home. Her letters would be full of the latest news too, what was happening in their street and stories from her new job at the factory, new friends she’d made and all the latest gossip about Dwight and Caroline and Jinny and Jim. He appreciated it and always loved reading her letters but he was loathe to admit there was something seductive, almost a gravitational pull towards Elizabeth’s words. She wrote to him fondly, each word full of love, so deep that he could imagine her writing it. He would read each letter three times before replying to it, taking his time each week until he’d written the perfect, most poetic lines he could muster in that dank, dark hovel of a writing room.

He loved Elizabeth, in his way. But he also loved Demelza in his way and it was imperative that she understand that. She wasn’t a bandage and she wasn’t just there to provide him with a happy home. He wanted to know he appreciated her and all she’d done for him, all the sacrifices she’d made, the fact that she’d given him a child, the most beautiful and perfect thing he’d ever seen, but he didn’t know how to put it into words.

He walked over slowly to where she sat and kneeled down in front of her, carefully taking her hands that rested limply on her lap. He willed her to look at him but she didn’t. He waited for a while, slowly stroking her hands with his fingers. Her skin was hot under his touch and he could tell where her hands were sore from the day’s shift. The beginnings of calluses and blisters were instantly tangible and her hands seemed small when they were enveloped in his. Bony and pale and delicate compared to his large, unwieldy hands covered with a light dusting of hair. She sat still for a while, relishing the feeling of his hands cool around hers, soothing the ache she always felt at the end of a long day. The touch was tender, strangely intimate and soothing as he methodically ran his fingertips over every inch of sore skin. He was quiet and when he spoke, his voice was smooth and low.

“I love you. And you know that. You know I love you more than I could ever tell you in words. You asked me what you’re here for. You’re here so I can make you happy, love you like you deserve, give you what you deserve. And I know I haven’t done that. I’ve not been the best husband and I’m sorry. You don’t know how special you are to me, how you’ve absolved me, cleaned me, purified me. Made me worthy of being a husband and a father. You’ve given me a home full of love and joy and I could never thank you enough for that. When you’re by my side, I feel whole and complete, like every missing part has found its way back and I could never forgive myself for making you feel like this. I don’t expect you to ever forg—“

“Feel like what?” she said suddenly, turning her head from the floor to look down at him. She met his eyes, but this time there was no ferocity, just clarity. “Feel like what? Worthless? Useless? Disrespected? Because that’s what this is all about, Ross. Respect. And I wonder, did you ever feel any respect for me at all? Did you ever give me a second thought and wonder what your duty was to me as a husband, what vows we took when we got married, or was that all a farce to you? A performance which held no consequence, no sincerity.”

“Of course I respect you. I married you, Demelza. Not her.”

His hands squeezed hers reassuringly as his eyes bore into hers, drinking in her gaze, searching it for any indication of how she might react. Everything he was telling her was the truth but it seemed it had gone past that now. She sighed tiredly and her hands remained limp under his as their eyes met again.

“And is that enough? Marrying me doesn’t make you any more mine than it does hers, evidently. I don’t own you, Ross. And you don’t own me. Maybe at the beginning, you did, because I let you, but not anymore. You’ve been gone a long time and things have changed, I don’t know if you’ve noticed it or not. I have a job, I’ve grown and changed and moved on, I’m not caged in this house anymore, my life doesn’t revolve around you. I don’t hang on your every word and lap up every little bit of attention you choose to throw my way. The world’s changing, I’m changing and you’re changing. Our lives are changing and I don’t know if I have any place in yours anymore. There’s only so much I can take.”

Fresh, warm tears fell down Ross’ cheeks and stained the coarse fabric of his uniform as he held her hands tight while she talked. He felt crushed, like the very foundations of his being had shattered in front of his very eyes. Demelza turned to him with her own eyes spilling and her voice came in a hoarse whisper.

“All those things you said, they were beautiful. So beautiful, Ross. But I’m competing with a shadow. Will those words give me that belief, enough to fight with this shadow? I’d thought that it was just a spectre, a ghost that I had to contend with everyday, but it’s more than that. She’s real and she’s taken you from me. Those words, these tears, these apologies. They’re not enough, Ross. They’ll never be enough. They’ll never bring me what’s lost, they’ll never bring you back to me. That’s all I want, I want—“

He stopped her before she could say it and clasped her hands so tight it hurt.

“You don’t hate me for what I did? You won’t cast me away from you? You should, Demelza, you should, for what I’ve done to you—“

“I hate you. And I’m angry. And I’m hurt. But that’s all I want. I want someone to bring you back to me. I want the Ross I knew, the Ross I married, the Ross who stayed with my baby when she died. The Ross who was my humble servant and loved me. Can you give me that Ross? Can you bring him back for me?”

His eyes glazed over as he stared at her earnestly. Her gaze bore into his as her eyes stung with unspilled tears and Ross was desperate to stop them. He would do anything, anything to hold her close again, let him love her again. Nothing could fill the shame and loss he felt when she looked at him like this, sadly, full of pain and grief, like he’d died. Perhaps that was how he felt, like he wasn’t living anymore, like he was viewing this whole scene from somewhere outside himself. He could hardly hear his own voice when he spoke.

“I’ll find him, Demelza. I’ll bring him back. I promise.”

Her eyes turned downwards and Ross felt the familiar drip of warm tears on his hands over hers.

“Don’t promise me anything, Ross,” she murmured tiredly, pushing his hands out of her lap, “that only tells me it’ll never happen.”

She got up and walked around where Ross knelt on the floor, undoing the rest of the poppers on her jumpsuit slowly as she walked out of the bedroom in a trance, as if she wasn’t aware of where she was. He heard the door of the bathroom open and shut as he turned his head to see glass scattered across the bedroom, glinting in the harsh yellow light of the too bright bulb. He crawled over and began to pick it up slowly with his bare hands, as carefully as he could. Slivers glinted all over the carpet and he set himself to his task diligently, picking up the thin card photograph. He tucked it into his uniform and continued piecing the glass back together.


End file.
